


From Halves to a Whole (Once More)

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Series: To Someday Fly [2]
Category: Merlin (BBC), Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Fluff, Happy Ending, London, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Modern AU, Oneshot, Recovery, Reunion, Sequel to a songfic, World War Two, pilot Arthur, technically a sequel but can be read alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin waits for Arthur to come home.</p><p>Or: Arthur showed Merlin how to fly (literally and figuratively).</p><p> </p><p>Sequel to 'I Can Fly' but can be read alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Halves to a Whole (Once More)

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like the first fic was a bit sad and lonely and need a better resolution, so here's this. 
> 
> Tbh I feel like I could write about 30k words in this universe but am too lazy to do so. So instead here's a short like, 700 word fic :p

 

The young man craned his head anxiously, balancing on the balls of his feet in an attempt to view above the hustle and bustle of the crowded airfield. The ebb and flow of humanity churned around the tall, lean figure – as water would move ‘round a particularly embedded rock – in their midday rush. Military uniforms speckled the civilian crowd – faces tight but smiling.

Every now and again two bodies would collide in a desperate reunion – tears and laughter echoing off the already roaring buzz of the crowd.

Worry laced blue eyes as they darted from cameo-clad figure to cameo-clad figure. Worry, even as the cry “ _The war is over!_ ” resounded throughout the humid September air.

Merlin craned his head once more, bouncing back onto his heels in an attempt to find that shock of golden hair, that knightly physique. He wrung his fingers together, biting his lip.

He hadn’t heard from him in over six months. Evidently England’s finest had been behind enemy lines for the latter half of the War.

Feeling a bit foolish, Merlin flushed. He hadn’t heard from him in half a year, didn’t know if this would be the place his plane landed – hell, Merlin didn’t even know if he was alive!

Sniffing a bit and forcing a breath past the lump in his throat, Merlin once again steadied himself against the jostling flow of bodies, looking around.Looking for him.

Looking for _Arthur_.

Arthur, who had brought the young artist back to his motel room that fateful night and dropped him on the couch.

Arthur, who had patiently waited out that hangover – and the next dozen and a half to follow.

Arthur, who often stared at Merlin as though he were the most interesting puzzle on the face of the earth, and then – when caught – would quickly flush and smirk and spout some crude witticism.

Arthur, who had taught him to fly… Who had saved him from himself, killing the younger man’s self destructive streak.

Arthur, who was there for the worst and the best and then some, never leaving Merlin’s side, never giving up – nor letting Merlin, either.

…Arthur who had desperately kissed him goodbye as the Skytrain’s engines whirred to life behind the pair in a mad fury of whipped air and coarse, grainy sand; who had promised many more days spent airborne and nights spent on top of the world.

Arthur, who daren’t look back, else Merlin see the tears welling at the base of rapidly blinking lashes.

Arthur… Merlin’s other half: found halfway across the world on an infamous dam.

***

Suddenly the worry slid off Merlin’s face, chased off by a quickly blooming grin. Laughter broke from his lips as the younger man suddenly broke out at a sprint. His mass of limbs – lanky and awkward as ever – engulfed Arthur as the pilot blinked in confusion.

Then looked down.

Then smiled.

Then grinned.

“Merlin! I – What the _hell_ are you doing here?!” Arthur laughed, finally returning the vice-like embrace.

Merlin responded – a murmur muted by the fact that his face was, of current, smashed into Arthur’s neck.

“As coherent as ever, I see.” Arthur snorted, nevertheless leaning further into the embrace.

“I said: I’ve been staying in London with my uncle. Working at his shop.”

Another snort. Gloved fingers began to stroke through grown out brown locks. “How long?”

“Mmm…a while.” Merlin responded absentmindedly, too busy taking in the heady presence of Arthur.

“I – did you stay for the air raids?” Arthur suddenly looked concerned, forcing Merlin at arm’s length in order to look him over – as though staring long enough would reveal any injuries.

It was Merlin’s turn to snort. “Of course. Now stop worrying, you prat. I’m alive, after all, aren’t I?”

Instead of a witty remark, Arthur's smile softened, his face a bit tanned and more worn, yet nevertheless glowing with a newfound light.

Looking at his lover – now tall and defiant and yes, _yes_ , alive – Arthur replied softly:

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”

And then, as though to prove his point, Merlin drew Arthur back in for a kiss – never mind the crowd, the flowing humanity, the appropriateness or the situation. Because god dammit if they weren’t young and in love and alive – yes, they were _alive_ , and nothing was going to stop that.

Nothing.

Because when Merlin met Arthur, he realized he already knew how to fly.


End file.
